What of that?" "Vot 'o that!" echoed Sharples, peevishly: "Everythin'. "I wish to overtake Lady Trafford. Wild," observed the knight, contemptuously. Be this as it may, Jonathan remained the victor; and shortly afterwards,—at the price of a third of his estate, it was whispered,—he procured Trenchard's liberation from confinement. I did all for the best, I'm sure. "Going to befuddle himself between now and dinner," was the comment of Prudence. At this juncture, Sir Cecil and his followers appeared at the threshold. I somehow understood. ‘I know just what he was doing. His name was Marvel, and his avocation, which was as repulsive as his looks, was that of public executioner.
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